


Darkest before Dawn

by AceQueenKing



Category: Star Wars Prequel Trilogy
Genre: F/F, Hurt/Comfort, Missing Scene, Padmé Amidala Lives AU, Past Padmé Amidala/Anakin Skywalker
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-02-19
Updated: 2018-02-19
Packaged: 2019-03-14 22:42:25
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,373
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/13599963
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/AceQueenKing/pseuds/AceQueenKing
Summary: "I want my babies," Padmé whispered, leaning into Mon's shoulder. Mon tightened her grip on the younger woman, trying to reassure them both. Padmé, glorious flower of the Senate, was wilting fast in her arms, and it scared her, scared her more than she'd like to admit."Then you will have them," Mon said, and meant it.





	Darkest before Dawn

**Author's Note:**

  * For [shiningstar](https://archiveofourown.org/users/shiningstar/gifts).



Blue was the wedding color on Chandrila.

Mon had often imagined her own wedding, blue flowers coronating a blue spire; her dress, blue, her lover - well, that had been the only part Mon had never quite been able to put together. Now, seeing the simulacrum of her best friend, laid out in a blue dress upon blue flowers in a burial coffin they'd stuffed on the ship at Kamino - it was morbid. The Naboo, she knew, did not use blue for a wedding color - It was white. Blue was the color of death for them, of things taken to the sea, to the vast oceans beneath their planet's core.

But still, to see her friend laid out like this, flowers between her fingers, along with a small pendant - it was like nothing so much as a coffin bride.

"It's ghoulish, isn't it?"

Mon turned; Padmé walked down the few steps to join her. She was still wearing beige, the pregnancy jumper almost comically loose around her midsection. The twins had taken a great deal out of her, and she'd gone from the glowing blush of motherhood to an almost deathly pallor in less than a day.

Mon hated Anakin Skywalker for that. For making Padmé keep a secret for so long, for never being allowed to enjoy her pregnancy, for burning down the Jedi.

And now, he was dead. And Padme nearly had died with him for - what? She did not know, and it scared her.

Padmé had long been the light in the universe, and the thought that she would no longer be there was - _terrifying_. In a calmer mood she could perhaps pity the fallen Jedi, but - not now, not while the evidence of his misdeeds still cast a shadow on her friend.

"You should be resting," Mon said. She tried to make the rebuke gentle but still, Padmé winced; she had been through a lot.

Padmé didn't say anything, simply kneeling toward her double. It was a surprisingly good likeness - but then, she supposed it was not beyond the pale that it did. Bail had called in favors, gotten a simulacrum made of organic matter. Built and aged on Kamino, for considerably more money than she would have thought any but the heir to a core world would have. It was fortuitous, Bail had said, that they wanted _dead_ tissue - the rapid aging would need years if they had wanted a living subject. Mon supposed she was thankful enough that they had friends in Kamino; ones that could be trusted not to inform the Emperor of this latest project. To think that Palpatine's machinations toward building a clone army had produced so grotesque a science, Mon mused.

But if it kept her friend safe, it was worth it.

Padmé stared morosely at her simulacrum; her eyes were blinking fast and Mon realized, with a startling worry, that her friend was crying.

"Shh," she said, falling on her knees and wrapping her arms around her friend. Padmé shivered against her, and Mon hated Anakin Skywalker all the more for making her friend hurt so much.

"They want to take them," Padmé said, in a hollow voice so devoid of emotion that Mon wanted nothing more than to find a way to travel back in time, to make Padmé's first love someone kind, someone good. "My babies. They lost their father today, and now Bail and Obi-Wan want to take them away from me. Said it was - it was safer."

She said it in a cruel matter of fact voice; Padmé had never been anything if not pragmatic. Mon clung to her tighter.

"Do you want to...?" She felt cruel for even asking, but Padmé had never been one to beat around the bush. Six hours ago, she would have encouraged her friend to bring them to the Jedi creche - surely Anakin's children would have a home there - but now the Jedi were in ruins, and her husband's children were all that was left of that tainted legacy.

Six hours ago, they hadn't been running for their lives. Mon's mouth screwed into a tight line; it wasn't fair, not fair at all. She wasn't in danger yet - nor was Bail - but Padmé certainly had been, and Obi-Wan, and Yoda, too. After today, when would they ever see one another again?

The thought of not seeing Padmé again was - unpleasant. She swallowed, trying not to show her discomfort at the thought. 

"No! How could you even..." Padmé looked at her aghast for a moment, then her face crumpled into tears. "Oh, Mon, I'm sorry, I'm sorry."

"It's fine," Mon said, pulling Padmé into her lap. The woman was short and far too frail; they'd nearly lost her on the birthing table, Obi-Wan had whispered, and she could see it. Could see, too, the phantom cords of hands on a delicate throat; knew, not just from experience, that that was the worst wound of all. "I can't even imagine what you're going through."

"I want my babies," Padmé whispered, leaning into Mon's shoulder. Mon tightened her grip on the younger woman, trying to reassure them both. Padmé, glorious flower of the Senate, was wilting fast in her arms, and it scared her, scared her more than she'd like to admit.

How long had she looked at Padmé with more than, perhaps, senatorial interest? For months, she had kicked herself for not making a move sooner - ever since Padmé had confided in Mon over the existence of her Jedi lover. Now, she couldn't help but want to be able to turn back time all the more - even knowing that her friend was hardly capable of focusing on her own desires at the moment. That could come, _would_ come later.

Mon Mothma had always learned from her mistakes.

"Then you will have them," Mon said. She meant it. She couldn't save Skywalker, could perhaps not prevent her friend from going through such heart-ache - but she would fight for her wishes. It was not an unreasonable request, she knew, though the Jedi and Bail may well be united against them on it.

"We will have a hard fight," Padmé said in a quiet voice. "Even Master Yoda--"

"Master Yoda, Obi-Wan, and Bail have no claim to your children, Padmé," She said softly. Padmé nodded, tears still flowing, but said nothing. Once again, her eyes went to the simulacrum, and Mon realized, with a soul-sickening thud, that the expression in those eyes was nothing so much as _longing_.

"Let's get out of here," Mon said softly. She gently unwound herself from Padmé, then offered her a hand. Padmé nodded, biting her lip. She grabbed Mon's hand, and Mon's heart jumped despite all the reasons it shouldn't.

"Do you want to see them?" Padmé asked; Mon nodded. She'd wanted to be in the operating room with Padmé, but there was little room, and Obi-Wan had insisted on being there with her - a guilty conscience, she suspected, for what had happened with Skywalker.

"I'd like that very much," she said, and squeezed Padmé's hand.

She was a bit relieved when the Senator squeezed her hand back.

\- - -

The nursery was nothing like what Padmé would surely have back on Naboo. She'd read enough of the Naboo to know that their furniture was rich in an earthy fashion: heavy woods, soft lighting, gold accenting. The twins make-shift cradle - she wasn't entirely sure what it had been, but it resembled nothing so much as an engine case that had been twisted to provide a bit more support, with a swaddling that looked suspiciously like a Jedi robe.

Her breath caught in her throat seeing them; they were fortuitous to both resemble their mother, she thought; she could see bits of Padmé's face on both, though only the girl had her coloring.

"This is Leia," Padmé said, pressing a hand over the little girl, who moved instinctually toward her mother's finger, and Mon couldn't help but smile.

Even with infants, Padmé's magnetism spared no victims. The girl opened disoriented eyes and her face scrunched into a dramatic wail, and Padmé shot Mon an apologetic look as she picked up the girl, bouncing her gently as she cooed.

"Quiet, little baby, quiet, quiet," she half-hummed; the melody was old, one that Mon could dimly recall from her own childhood. How odd, she thought, the things they remembered.

The boy woke at the sound, and, predictably, began to wail with his sister. Padmé shot her a look that suggested nothing so much as exhaustion, and Mon swallowed.

"They've got quite healthy lungs," Mon said, smiling with some effort because, by the Force, she had to find something to keep Padmé going. She reached out with a hesitant hand - she'd never touched a child in her life - and looked up at Padmé. "May I...?"

"Please," Padmé nodded, and Mon swallowed her courage, picking up the baby boy and trying to hold him as Padmé held Leia. He stared up at her with sleepy eyes, tiny fists waving in the air as she placed him against her back.

"He's Luke," Padmé said.

"They're perfect," Mon said, patting Padmé's shoulder.

She snorted; Leia shrieked at the noise and Padmé pressed a soft kiss to her shoulder; Luke, thankfully, did not follow his sister.

"I'm afraid they've not behaved very well. A part of me wonders if - well, perhaps they're sad about, about - " She opened her mouth and a strangled sigh came out, and Mon shook her head. She knew full well what the woman was referring to.

"It doesn't matter," Mon said, gently, reaching out with one hand to cup Padmé's cheek. It was colder than she'd like, and she couldn't stop herself from tracing the lovely outline of her cheekbone. "They may be sad, Padmé, but they will be happy, too. These are dark days, but - there will be good ones, too."

"Do you really think so?" Padmé's voice wavered, and Mon felt her chest squeeze in broken-hearted sadness.

"I know so. It is always darkest before the dawn." Mon leaned in close, careful not to jostle either twin as she pressed her head against Padmé's. "We will find a safe place for them, and for you. You will have your family, Padmé, and we will give Palpatine his due."

Something passed between them for a moment; a look of knowing love, an acknowledgment of thankfulness. Padmé took a deep breath, closed her eyes, and smiled, and even if it was a sad smile, it was a smile none the less. The twins both quieted, and Mon wondered if perhaps their moods were more attuned to their mother's than anything else.

The Force, she knew, was insignificant compared to the power of a mother's love.

"Thank you," Padmé said, sighing softly. "Mon, I wish I could stay with you and pretend this is just a - just a bad dream."

"You can do that," Mon said, her heart jumping at the thought. "Chandrila is lovely this time of year. You can feed the children under the _Jan'ya_ trees; when they're older, we can take them to the Silver Sea." She looked down at the boy in her arms. "I bet you'll be quite a swimmer."

Padmé looked indecisive; Mon reached out again, cupping her cheek. It was too intimate a move for a friend but Padmé did not look away; her breath caught in a way that made Mon all but tremble, but she needed to be strong.

"You will get through this, Padmé. We can...we can find a way to tell your family on Naboo," she said, though she did not know how they would get a message back to the Emperor's homeworld - not yet, anyway. But they had time to find it out. "You can, and _will_ , build a life."

"You make it sound so easy," she said, her voice choked. "Like I can just - walk away."

"There's a difference between walking away and living to fight another day. And you can - and will - live, Padmé. You have to. I - " She debated if she should tell Padmé her feelings, but years in the Senate had taught her that there was such a thing as too much, too fast. "I will help you," she finished; the truth, if not the whole truth.

But the whole truth would come, one day.

Padmé nodded, gently reaching over Mon's shoulder and pulling Luke to her other shoulder. She pressed a soft kiss on his little baby head. The image of her gave Mon the slimmest hope that, perhaps, Padmé was still in the fight.

"I have to - for them. And for the movement, too - I can't let Palpatine win, not after..." She swallowed, shook her small head. The words, Mon knew, were still too harsh to say. "And for you too, Mon, I...I can't say how much I appreciate you and Bail both..."

"You would do no less for me," Mon squeezed her cheek, trying to distract her. "Well, what do you say we try to convince the Jedi to let us depart for Chandrila?"

"It'll be a difficult fight," Padmé said, adjusting her arms to gently hold the twins. A One-Bee reached out toward her to take them, but Padmé refused to give them up; for now, Mon took that as a good sign.

"Fortunately, we are both quite stubborn," Mon said, "and you've always been good at giving speeches."

"And you as well." Padmé took a step forward, more purpose in her step than she had exhibited a mere hour before, and Mon breathed a bit easier. She was still with them, and Mon was thankful. But they had a lot of work to do.

"Mon?" Padmé asked, turning back to her.

"Yes?"

"Thanks. Really. I just - I'm glad we're going to be together." Her cheeks were stained a guilty pink; Mon expected that would fade in time.

"Me too," she said, truthfully; she wanted to give the young mother a kiss, but refrained, instead, she squeezed her shoulder and brushing past her, leading the way.

They still had many fights to fight, but Mon would be there, holding a candle until the day would come when they could, once again, see by the light of day.


End file.
